


The Broken Hallelujah

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winning is about so much more than coming first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Broken Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rostelsuari. Many thanks to orelseanending for the beta.

Seb stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his naked body. There were no real bruises yet, just shadows. It had only been a couple of hours, not long enough for them to bloom on his pale flesh. He could tell where they were forming though, which hits would make the deepest marks, and he fingered them slowly, carefully, feeling the dull pain radiate sickeningly through him.

*

It seemed that he could do no wrong. One point, that was all he needed and he knew that he’d get it. He knew that today was the day he’d become the youngest ever double world champion.

Everyone around him looked at him like he was the Second Coming; it made his skin crawl. He didn’t deserve it. He tried to prove it to them, tried to run Jenson off the track, but still they cheered and celebrated him. Not even the stewards could see him for what he was. When Jenson himself laughed it off, Seb felt more alone than ever.

The party, the alcohol, it all just took him further into the dark fog of his own mood. He left early, heading back to the hotel, and found himself sharing a lift with Fernando. Seb stared at him in the small space. If anyone knew the darkness it took to leave everyone else behind in this sport, it was Fernando Alonso.

He leant in close, his hot breath falling against the side of Fernando’s face, and when Fernando didn’t flinch, Seb felt himself smile. “I have taken away the only thing that was special about you,” he said.

Fernando turned to look at him, their faces too close together. There was fire in his eyes and it was all Seb had wanted from anyone for so long: Someone to judge him; someone to hate him.

The first punch landed squarely in the middle of his gut, the sensation more overwhelming than he was expecting, so visceral and immediate. It made his eyes water, made him pitch forward into Fernando’s body, leaning heavily against him. Fernando pushed him roughly away, Seb’s back connecting with the side of the lift. Seb looked him in the eyes, pain searing through him and making him want to sink down to the floor.

“Even in a Ferrari you cannot win,” he continued. “You must be such a disappointment to them.”

Fernando looked furious. He surged forward, closing the small gap between them with terrifying speed, both of his hands fisting into Seb’s t-shirt and pulling him away from the wall. When the lift doors opened with a friendly little ping, Fernando automatically let go, Seb crumpling down onto the floor. Fernando looked out into the hallway, but there was no one there. He turned back to Seb, an undignified mess on the floor.

“This is your stop,” Fernando told him.

Seb shrugged. He’d lost the will to care. Fernando sighed and bent down, heaving him to his feet.

“Which number?” he asked as he walked Seb down the hallway, supporting him under his arms. Seb fished in the back pocket of his jeans, handing his keycard over.

Fernando found his room and let them both in, throwing Seb down on the bed with little ceremony. He tossed the keycard onto the desk and then turned to leave. Seb watched his retreating form through slightly bleary eyes when Fernando turned back around, looking curiously at Seb.

“You have everything that you want,” he stated. “Why do you care so much about what I have lost?”

Seb pushed himself up until he was sitting, his weight rested heavily back on his arms. “I don’t care about you,” he said calmly. “Nobody cares about you. You are just old now. Washed up. You stayed too long at a game you were never very good at. What a waste of a beautiful car.”

Fernando rushed back towards him, fists clenched, and Seb could feel the surge of adrenaline racing through his blood, making him buoyant in the seconds before Fernando connected hard with his chest, rattling his lungs. His arms folded under him but he pushed himself back up on his elbows, watching as Fernando rained another two, three, four punches to his torso, each one slightly more satisfying than the last.

He whimpered, not from the pain; that was heavy and grounding and real. He whimpered from the justice of it, from the glimmer of hope that maybe he’d finally been understood. The tiny, broken sound made Fernando pause, looking into Seb’s eyes. They were both panting and they were so close and Seb could feel the atmosphere in the room changing into something else.

Fernando, that fire, that hatred still dancing in his eyes, reached up a hand, grabbing Seb by the hair and forcing his head backwards until all Seb could see was ceiling. Fernando’s mouth landed on his neck, kissing, sucking, licking, but there was no tenderness in it, no pretence of romance or even pleasure. It was an extension of what his fists had done to Seb’s body.

“I see right through you,” he whispered harshly against the side of Seb’s face.

“Everyone sees through me,” Seb responded, voice strained by the position he was held in. “I am waiting for someone to see me.”

Fernando let go, allowing Seb to bring his head back down and meet his eyes. There was an expression there that Seb couldn’t quite read, something menacing and amused all at once. Without looking away, Fernando jabbed his fingers under Seb’s ribs, a sharp, unpleasant pain that made him gasp. Fernando’s lips turned into a wicked smile as he pressed harder, and then he took his hand away, removing himself completely as he stood from the bed.

Seb stared up at him, lips parting in words that he couldn’t even imagine, and then Fernando turned his back, stalking out of the room.

*

He dressed slowly, his body aching now, protesting as he lifted his arms to pull on his hoodie. He looked in the mirror again. He’d cut off the mop of babyish blond hair, gone for a more fashionable style, but he still looked so young. He hated it. Even with dark circles under his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he looked so sweet and innocent. All he wanted were for his outsides to match his insides.

He lifted his top, the shadows across his body beginning to deepen; old blood trapped under his skin. He still wasn’t sure if it was enough.

“Rough night?” one of the mechanics joked as they saw him walking stiffly across the lobby, pain aching through his every step.

Seb forced a smile, pretending it was the bright sunlight streaming through the large windows that was making him wince. “You only become the youngest ever double world champion once,” was his response.

The mechanic laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Must still be a couple of records you can break.”

“I’ll look into it,” Seb told him, knowing that nothing would ever fill the hole.

*

Back-to-back races gave him no time to catch his breath and before he knew it he was back in another Thursday press conference. It all seemed so tedious; he knew that he should be enjoying this, another chance to revel in his successes, but he felt like he was fumbling for words that should come easily.

Fernando was sitting by his side, his presence making Seb feel slightly out of step with himself. His skin felt a little too tight, his head not quite his own, and it took all of his willpower not to turn to face Fernando and ask, in front of all these people, for what he really needed. As the questions became directed elsewhere, Seb found himself pressing his fingertips into his ribcage, pushing against the worst of the bruises. He touched it rhythmically, sending pulses of pain through his body, and when he looked up, he saw Fernando looking back at him, a grin on his face.

As the press conference ended, Seb sighed and began to collect up his things when Fernando slid a folded piece of paper towards him. Seb looked up but Fernando was already two steps away. Seb crumpled the piece of paper in his palm and exited the room, not daring to uncurl his fingers until he was alone in his room at the Energy Station.

_Take a picture and send it to me._

Beneath the words was a phone number.

Seb lifted his T-shirt and looked down at the bruises. They were probably at their peak now and he was far too aware of the fact that, at seemingly any moment, they would start to fade away. Nothing ever seemed to last long enough. Wins and losses were both equally fleeting.

He pulled the T-shirt over his head and took out his phone, holding it up and snapping a photograph. He looked it over. There was no reason he shouldn’t send it to Fernando. Really, Seb was just the canvas, he didn’t own these marks. He typed in the number Fernando had given him and pressed send, feeling strangely relieved that he wasn’t entirely alone in this anymore.

*

Sunday brought him another race win and, despite Christian and Rocky telling him to back off, another fastest lap. One more attempt at finding whatever it was that would make him feel like he’d really earned this. He admitted on the BBC that it was pretty much just an ego thing, expecting to at least get teased, but still no one was willing to call him out.

He always spent so much time being humble, making sure that everyone knew that he wasn’t taking this chance for granted, and it was true, but part of him felt like he was fooling everyone as well. Ego was an ugly trait, but his records and his championships and all his race wins went so much deeper than that. He was just trying to become a person he could be proud of.

Back in his hotel room it was too quiet, giving his thoughts free rein to consume him. It was that same old voice inside his head, the same old doubts and fears. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondered if anything could ever make this go away. He still remembered his first ever race win, driving for Toro Rosso in Monza, and how it had felt like the first tiny step towards redemption. Now he was close to the top of his climb, the peak coming into view, and he’d never felt so wretched in his life.

He rolled onto his stomach and took his phone out of his pocket, staring at the tiny, lit-up display. There were so many people he could call, people who would pick him up when he was down, but he didn’t want that. He’d stopped believing what they said a long time ago. There was only one person he wanted now, he just had no idea how to ask.

He drafted several text messages. In one he tried to explain himself, in one he gave details of what he needed, in one he thought up cruel taunts, and in one he simply typed the word _Help._ In the end though, he simply typed in his hotel room number and pressed send, knowing he’d be understood.

Forty minutes later he was still alone, his body restless and his skin crawling. Fernando wasn’t coming. Seb wondered about the photograph he’d sent him on Thursday. Had Fernando been laughing at him? Had he showed people? It was probably what Seb deserved. In fact, if Fernando turned him into a laughing stock, he’d probably be doing him a favour.

A sharp knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. He pushed himself to his feet, making his way across the room. A flash of red forced him backwards as Fernando kicked the door closed behind them both, pressing Seb firmly to the wall. His body was hot, his breath against Seb’s face hotter. In the small entrance to the room, Seb felt suffocated, closed in on from every side.

Fernando’s hand travelled up his body, fingertips pressing experimentally against his torso. He watched Seb’s face, waiting for a reaction, and when Seb winced Fernando released him, taking a step back and nodding towards the room.

“Show me.”

Seb pulled his T-shirt over his head as he walked, turning back to face Fernando who was closer than he expected. Fernando pushed him hard on the shoulders, forcing him to fall back onto the bed. He stood above him, head tilted to the side, studying his body.

“Is fading,” he finally said.

Seb nodded. Every word he wanted to say felt like it was stuck in his throat.

Fernando dropped down onto the bed beside him, reaching out a hand and tracing long sweeping lines over Seb’s body. “Are you proud?”

“Of this?” Seb asked.

“Constructor’s championship,” Fernando explained.

“Oh,” Seb said. “No.”

“You are allowed to be proud,” Fernando told him.

Seb looked down at Fernando’s hand, his gentle touch, and he felt like he was being teased, tortured. “Do it again,” he requested.

“I am having an idea,” Fernando told him, still looking thoughtfully down at the path of his hand. “I think this is your seatbelt.”

Seb looked down and he suddenly understood what Fernando had been doing. He had a feeling he knew where he was going with it too.

“I do it here, you will feel it when you race,” Fernando mused, pressing down just above his hip. “Then when you are winning you will feel it pulling and you will remember that you have already paid for this. Then you can enjoy.”

Seb frowned, looking at him thoughtfully.

“That is the problem, yes?” Fernando said, removing his hand. “It is too easy. You do not feel you have earned it. Not unless you have this.” He jabbed Seb in the ribs, sending a sharp shock of pain through him. “I _do_ see you.”

He got to his feet and Seb reached out too late, trying to bring him back. “Do it again,” he insisted. “Here.” He pointed to the spot Fernando had picked out, the place where Seb’s harness would dig into him.

“Is two weeks until India,” Fernando shrugged. “Will fade.”

“But...”

Fernando shook his head, turning away. Seb looked down at his body and he knew this wouldn’t be enough to see him through the next two weeks.

“You hurt so many people on your way to the top,” he spat out, trying shamelessly to get a rise out of him.

Fernando turned calmly back to face him. “No I didn’t,” he said. “I hurt them on the way back down again.” Seb sagged back against the bed. “We all must pay in our own ways. Ask me in India, if you still want it.”

As Fernando left the room, Seb tried to stop the voices creeping back in again. Half of him was terrified of ending up like Fernando, but the other half of him felt safe in the knowledge that at least he wouldn’t be alone.

*

_Prost: 13, Senna: 13, today Vettel: 13_

Seb undressed in front of the hotel mirror, examining the new bruises that adorned his body. He’d matched another historical record. At some point in the next two race weekends he might even manage to beat it. It was certainly within his grasp.

He pressed his fingers into the mark that his seatbelt had rested against for the duration of qualifying. Fernando had chosen the spot perfectly. He felt as if he spent his days in the company of dead men, or at least men who had long since moved on. Nobody here challenged him. Untouchable was the loneliest state he could imagine, but now his body told a different story: a man who’d struggled and fought for and earned what he had.

Seb watched his reflection as he touched each bruise on his body, a safe little ritual, ending with the red mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, just low enough to be covered by his T-shirt. He remembered the way Fernando’s teeth had sunk into his flesh before he kissed it better. Warm lips. Hot tongue. An acceptance of all the isolation and selfish darkness it takes to make a winner.


End file.
